


The Healing

by saraid



Series: Healing [1]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Gen, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-05
Updated: 2018-05-05
Packaged: 2019-05-02 11:34:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14543847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saraid/pseuds/saraid
Summary: Richie visits Duncan after Tessa's death.





	The Healing

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very early fic for me, and it shows.

"Mac?"

Richie entered the suite hesitantly. He hadn't heard from  
MacLeod in a couple of weeks. The last he'd seen him was when  
Duncan had handed him the keys to the store and said "Sell it."

He'd done what he asked, even though he'd been uncertain at first  
what to do with some of the things in it. He'd never had to deal  
with the aftermath of a loved one's death before. What to do with  
her clothes, her sculpture, the pictures...Duncan had simply left  
everything. After the funeral, when they had returned from  
France.

It had taken just three days for Duncan to close that  
chapter of his life.

Richie had given the clothes to a shelter, sold everything  
in the store to an auction house, and put the pictures and  
Tessa's work into storage. Someday Duncan might want them again.

And now he was here, at the address Duncan had given him. A  
nice hotel on the other side of the city, as far as he could get  
from his memories without leaving town.

Richie felt the Buzz as he stepped into the main room. It  
was late and the room was dark, curtains pulled against the  
lights of the city, not a single light shining in the room.

"Duncan, are you here?" his hand went automatically to his  
sword, chosen from the ones in the store, hidden in his coat. He  
was new, but he wasn't stupid. Duncan might have been easy prey  
in his recent condition. Not that Richie was good enough to fight  
anyone yet.

"I'm here." 

The rough whisper was filled with pain. He heard the  
unmistakable clink of a heavy bottle on the floor and followed  
the noise around to the small space behind the sofa on the wall.

There was just enough light coming between the folds of  
curtain to make out a shadow on the floor, wedged into that dark  
space.

"Oh, Mac." Richie was shaken to find him like this. Duncan  
could always cope, he always came out on top. Had he given up?

He crouched on his knees in front of the narrow space and  
reached in, catching a leg and pulling. Duncan didn't resist, but  
didn't help either, and Richie thought he was going to throw his  
back out as he tugged, Mac's heavy body unresponsive.

"Mac, you can't stay back there." he scolded gently, then  
made a face and snorted as he got a whiff of him. "Do you think  
Tess would want this?"

"Tessa's dead." Duncan said, his voice matching the words.  
He still didn't move to help as Richie slowly got him moving,  
inch by inch, over the polished wood floor.

"But you're not." Rich sat back with a sigh, having gotten  
him all the way out. Several bottles had come with him, in his  
lap and tangled in the blanket he'd half wrapped himself in. "How  
long have you been back there?"

"Na' long enow." Duncan flopped back as if sitting were too  
much work. He raised the bottle still in his hand and took a long  
drink.

"Hey." Richie grabbed for the bottle and Duncan let him take  
it. Richie held it up, squinting. It was almost empty, barely  
enough to slosh in the heavy green glass. He tilted it back and  
choked as liquid fire burned its way down his throat, sputtering  
it over his clothes. It was several seconds before he could take  
a breath, he briefly feared he was going to pass out. "What is  
that?" he croaked.

"Poison." Duncan reached for it but Richie held it away.  
With a deep breath he finished it off. It was just as bad the  
second time, an overwhelming taste of burnt licorice but he  
managed to get it down without making a mess. 

"Well, now it's empty." he said after the burning had  
lessened enough so that he could talk.

Duncan didn't say anything, just reached behind himself and  
scrabbled under the sofa before pulling out another bottle.

"Mac!" Richie reached for it, but Duncan held it away  
clumsily. On his knees Richie lunged for it, but overbalanced and  
fell across his friend, who fell back and stared up at him.

In the dark Duncan's eyes glittered like a crazy man's. 

Richie pushed himself up. There wasn't much room, so he had  
to put a hand on Duncan's chest and he gagged when he felt the  
sticky wetness oozing there. The stench was awful.

He sat up and grabbed Duncan's hand.

"You need a shower, Mac." he tugged, standing. "You can  
drink all you want after you're clean."

Duncan just stared at him with dead eyes and began to open  
the new bottle, fingers clumsy.

"Mac, Tessa would be so disappointed to see you like this."  
Richie hardened his tone. "She never liked it when you drank."

Those were the only times he could remember Tessa getting  
truly angry with Duncan. It had only happened twice since they  
took him in, and he'd been frightened by it both times. Afraid  
the people he was learning to love, the family he was learning to  
trust, it was all going to fall apart and he'd be right back  
where he started. Alone.

The word echoed in his mind as he thought about it. Alone. 

Duncan had been alone for more than two weeks now. Without  
Tessa, without Richie, without Connor or anyone else to comfort  
him. Richie knew that it had been what he wanted, but maybe he  
shouldn't have listened. Maybe he should have left the store  
until later, and settled Duncan first.

Feeling a sudden increase in guilt he went back to his knees  
and pulled Duncan back to a sitting position. With a deep breath  
\-- not because he was anxious, though he was, but because he  
didn't want to have to breathe in close proximity to his friend  
just now -- he leaned over and wrapped his arms around him in a  
tight hug, his head close to Duncan's.

"Mac -" he searched for words. "Tessa wouldn't like this.  
She'd want you to go on living."

Still in his arms, Duncan didn't respond. His arms remained  
at his sides, on the floor, but his head leaned forward as if it  
was too heavy to lift, laying on Richie's shoulder, his tangled  
dark hair clumped with vomit brushing Richie's neck.

"Mac." Richie fought down the urge to shove him away. "Mac,  
that's disgusting. Come and take a shower, okay?" 

He stood, and Duncan let him pull him up, too. He leaned  
heavily on Richie, who staggered under the weight.

"Okay, I guess a bath would be a better idea." They  
staggered into the bathroom and Richie set him on the toilet  
before turning on the light.

Turning back to Duncan he gasped. Mac looked even worse than  
he'd expected.

His jeans were ripped and stained with things Richie didn't  
want to think about, his shirt was thickly smeared with more   
stuff, and his face was blanched green. His eyes were dark,  
haunted hollows staring out from a stubbled face framed in angled  
bones that should have cut through skin.

"You look awful." he couldn't think of anything else to say.  
He went to the tub and turned on the water, then reconsidered,  
turning it off and going to the separate shower stall. Mac  
wouldn't want to sit in that stuff after it washed off. If he  
needed help standing Richie would just help him.

A soft groan behind him made him turn and he was just quick  
enough to catch Duncan as he slid from the toilet and collapsed  
in front of it on his knees, his body beginning to convulse in a  
way Richie definitely recognized.

"Shit, Mac." he caught his head with one hand and lifted the  
toilet seat with the other, propping it up and holding Duncan's  
head in both hands as he retched helplessly, his big body  
boneless, only the muscle spasms keeping him on his knees. Richie  
leaned over him and pressed Duncan's back with his legs to give  
him stability. His fingers brushed the hair back out of his face,  
hating to touch it.

The thin fluid that ran from his mouth quickly turned red  
and Richie felt a surge of panic, but fought it down. It  
shouldn't kill him, and even if it did, he'd come back.

The red became chunks -- clots, Richie guessed, he must have  
really torn up his stomach -- and then Duncan sagged, hitting his  
head on the bowl when Richie wasn't fast enough to catch him. 

He didn't make a sound. The bottle he'd held in his hand the  
whole time fell with a clink on the cold ceramic tile.

Richie let him slip all the way to the floor and began  
peeling the fouled clothes off him. The jeans stuck to his legs  
as he touched them, wincing, not sure what all the gunk was, but  
very sure he didn't want to know. Duncan wasn't wearing anything  
beneath them, and Richie tugged them off trying not to look at  
that part of him.

He'd never been comfortable with male sexuality. There had  
been times -- times he tried hard not to remember -- when he'd  
needed money and done what he'd had to. To survive. On occasion  
he'd done it to feed his friends or get them all a place to stay  
when it was cold and the shelters were full. He'd never told  
anyone but Angie, and when he'd turned to theft she'd understood.  
He hadn't been able to do the other anymore. Anything was better  
than that.

While he knew Duncan was nearly 100% straight, sometimes  
Richie wondered. Especially when he talked about Connor and his  
eyes softened suspiciously. But he'd never approached Richie.  
Richie didn't know what he would have done if he had. It would  
have hurt so much, felt like such a betrayal...Duncan would never  
know everything he'd done. Richie had decided long ago that he  
would never tell him. He didn't want to see the pity, the shame  
in his friend's eyes.

Speaking of pity...he shook his head and tried to get Duncan  
up and into the shower.

He grunted as he tried to lift him. Duncan was a big guy,  
solidly packed. There was no way he was going to be able to lift  
him. As he tried he looked at his face, searching for the  
consciousness that would mean he could talk Duncan into helping,   
Duncan's eyes rolled back and then shut. He sagged even further  
in Richie's arms.

Rich checked his pulse. He wasn't dead, just passed out,  
dead drunk. 

"Dammit!" he shouted and it echoed in the tiled room.  
"MacLeod!"

He didn't know how long it took, but, by force of will,  
pulling several muscles in the process that healed quickly -- he  
still wasn't used to that sensation -- he got him into the shower  
stall, slumped in a corner. He turned on the water, very hot, but  
Duncan still didn't move.

"Shit, Mac. Do I have to bathe you too?" he took off his  
boots and jacket, setting them carefully aside, and stepped into  
the stall with his friend, his clothes sticking to him in the wet  
heat. 

With a soapy cloth he began to wash the worst of the mess  
from Duncan's face. 

"Unhhh." his friend groaned and leaned over as he came to,  
retching again, right on Richie's feet. With a disgusted noise  
Rich stepped out of the way and held his shoulders until he was  
done. Then he reached for the hotel shampoo and lathered up  
Duncan's hair as Duncan leaned back against the wall, eyes  
closed. He rinsed it and did it again. When he finished the  
second time he saw Duncan's eyes on him. Not curious, just  
becoming aware of his presence.

"Can you stand?" he asked, squatting down beside him. At  
least there was plenty of hot water. He'd have to order some  
coffee from room service when they got done in here.

Duncan looked at him, his eyes registering him for the first  
time since Richie walked into the suite.   
"Richie?" it was slurred, even the brogue drowned beneath  
the alcohol haze.

"Yeah, it's me, Mac. How ya feeling?"  
"I need a drink." Duncan closed his eyes again. 

"Is it done?"

Richie knew what he was talking about.

"It's taken care of." he felt a little proud to say that --  
he had taken care of things. "Now I need to take care of you."

"...fine..." Duncan breathed, one hand brushing clumsily at  
his chest.

"Then stand up and finish washing yourself." Richie grabbed  
his upper arms and lifted with his back, feeling the strain and  
regretting it. But Duncan came to his feet, leaning against the  
wall, eyes still closed. Richie pushed the cloth into his hand,  
but Mac didn't move.

Richie considered. His hair was clean, his face and  
chest...the rest probably wasn't that dirty after being under the  
hot water so long. 

"C'mon." he tugged on Duncan's arm and the cloth fell to the  
floor. "You need to get some sleep."

Duncan followed him like a sleepy child as Richie led him to  
the bedroom. 

"Lie down." Rich said, and Duncan crawled over on top of the  
covers and lay there. The curtains were cracked open in here and  
a sliver of early sunlight caught his flank, highlighted his  
muscular torso. Richie looked away, then back.

Duncan shivered.

Richie sighed. Then he climbed up on the bed after him and  
pulled the blankets from beneath him and covered him up warmly.  
Duncan lay still, on his back, and Richie slid off the bed.

A large hand reached out, shaking, and missed a grab at his  
arm.

"don' go..." Mac's voice whispered. "....don' wan' be  
alone...'

Uh-oh, Richie thought. What did this mean?

Duncan opened his eyes, and they were filled with tears.

"Richie..." he breathed low. Then - nothing. He simply  
stared and Richie felt a flush on his cheeks. Duncan saw it and  
withdrew his hand, closed his eyes.

Richie stood and stared for long minutes. Duncan was still,  
but tears were leaking from beneath his closed eyelids, trickling  
down his haunted face.

I can't leave him like this. Tessa would never forgive me if  
I left him here to cry alone.

With a mental shrug -- he's not going to try anything in  
this condition -- he stepped out of his jeans and slid into the  
bed beside his friend in his boxers and t-shirt. They were both  
wet, but he didn't even want to consider sliding in there naked,  
so he compromised by stripping off the T-shirt, throwing it to  
the floor, then slid deeper beside his friend. He shivered, but  
it was nerves, not cold.

Duncan was less than a foot away. He didn't move when Richie  
lay back, but, after a few minutes, he tried to speak.

"You don't have to." his voice was clearer -- the effects of  
the booze must be wearing off. 

"No big deal." Rich tried to blow it off. Duncan turned on  
his side and faced him. He was still crying silently, as if the  
tears had a life of their own and weren't a part of him.

"Ii' iz." he rasped. Very slowly he reached toward Richie,  
one hand, wanting to touch but not touching. 

Duncan was afraid of him. Why? Richie knew the answer and  
silently begged his friend to pull back, to take this, which was  
all Richie thought he could offer.

"please." Duncan whispered. "Could I just - hold you? Just  
for a little while..." his body shook once, hard, and Rich knew  
he hadn't cleaned all the effects out of his system. "-it hurts  
so bad." Duncan dropped the hand and closed his eyes again,  
accepting the rejection.

It was hard for Richie, but not as hard as he'd thought.  
He'd touched Duncan before. Mac could be a demonstrative man, he  
liked to hug and punch and goof around. Richie would never forget  
the time during a sparring match when Duncan had reached around  
and given him a wedgie. 

He had given Richie so much. Surely Richie could give him a  
little human comfort.

With a sigh, very tense, Richie moved closer to Duncan. He  
pushed the fallen hand out of the way and scooted to within a  
couple of inches. 

Duncan didn't open his eyes, but both arms came up and went  
around him. He was pulled close, into a trembling embrace, and  
Duncan buried his head at Richie's neck, his wet hair cool  
against the younger immortal's bare skin, and the tears flowed  
freely. 

Feeling the sobs that shook his friend, Richie let go of his  
fears and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close, one  
hand stroking his hair. He'd held girls when they cried like  
this. When Angie had been raped he'd rocked her for hours as she  
poured out her anger and pain. He'd been glad she'd come to him.

He couldn't know how much pain Duncan was in. He'd never had  
anyone who loved him, or that he loved, the way they had loved  
each other. He could give him this, could hold him against the  
storm, could make sure he wasn't alone, if only for a few  
minutes. Or a night. But that was all.

Duncan's sobs finally tapered off to heaving gasps. Richie  
became aware of the great chest pressed to his.

Duncan pulled away without a word, his hands going to his  
sides. Richie smiled in the faint light and reached for him  
again.

"It's okay, Mac." he whispered. "I'll stay."

His eyes came open and Richie saw that the pain wasn't gone,  
just quiet for now.

"Are you sure?" he saw knowledge of his fear, willingness to  
let him go.

"I'll stay as long as you need me to." Richie said quietly.

Duncan didn't say anything, just reached for his friend.  
Richie let him take him in his arms and turn him over, tucking  
his back up close to Duncan's naked form. It was strange, but not  
frightening. With his arms wrapped firmly around Richie's chest  
Duncan sighed in his hair.

Richie could remember having walked in on Tess and Duncan in  
this same position, fallen asleep on the sofa or soundly in their  
bed if he'd had some urgent reason to wake him. Duncan always  
looked peaceful when Tessa was sleeping in his arms, her body  
pressed to his.

He took a deep, slow breath and forced himself to relax.  
Duncan just wanted someone to hold, a warm body next to him. And  
he didn't want some stranger, he wanted someone he knew and  
trusted. Duncan trusted him, and he wanted to repay that. So he  
closed his eyes and relaxed, letting himself feel the  
overwhelming warmth of his friend's body, the strength in those  
arms around him, the soft brush of his breath on the back of  
Richie's neck.

"thank you." the words were so soft he was thought he might  
have imagined them, but then felt Duncan shift behind him and  
became aware of something else, something that made him acutely  
uncomfortable. Something hard and long and hot that pressed  
against his ass.

He held himself very still, and Duncan shifted again and it  
was gone. He'd become aware of Richie's discomfort and moved to  
alleviate it. Richie could trust him.

Soon Duncan's even breathing told Richie he was asleep. He  
was glad, it was probably the first good sleep he'd gotten since  
Tess died.

Richie was tired too. The bed was warm and Duncan's arms  
around him were strangely comforting. He couldn't remember anyone  
ever holding him in his sleep. He always pulled away from women  
when he stayed the night, claiming his own space and sleeping in  
it alone. But this was Duncan, and he needed him.

Richie let his thoughts slow and, at last, slept.

He woke once, hours later, the heat of tears against his  
neck, and turned to hold Duncan in his pain, and then they both  
slept again. The healing had begun.


End file.
